sleepin on that seaside waiting for life to begin
by lightsthatguideus
Summary: But the gods punish her. Instead of letting him become what she wants-the laughing, tough, reliable Clint that she remembered-he becomes blue-eyed and blank and he's no one's Clint anymore-he's barely even his own. / Clint and Natasha, and a mission gone wrong. C/N


_This is something I wrote about a month ago, didn't like it, and deleted it. I'm still not totally sure how I feel about it, but I might as well keep it up, because...I don't know, sentimental purposes, or something._

_I hope you enjoy it, though!_

_Note: Title taken from Derek Nelson and the Musicians' "Oh Mama (I'm Coming to the Other Side.)"_

_Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers._

* * *

_"The only way love can last a lifetime is if it's unconditional. The truth is this: love is not determined by the one being loved but rather by the one choosing to love."_

_― Stephen Kendrick, The Love Dare_

* * *

Clint's eyes are filled with hope and compassion and all the things she'll never be.

And maybe that's what she can't love him. Well, can't as in won't, or won't as in shouldn't, whichever works. Because she's fire, she's destruction, she's death, and that's her job, and Clint may be everything she is, but he's so much more, in a sappy, thoughtful way. There's sometimes a hesitation, and she notices the grasp on his quiver isn't as tight as it should be. And once, when her hair was longer and he'd never kissed her before, he'd taken his arrow to the chest of his victim, and asked if he had anything to say.

The man sputtered and cried stupidly, and Clint killed him before he could take hold of the situation. She remembered grabbing his arm on the plane ride back, asking him what he was thinking. He'd replied simply, "He's a father."

And for hours after that, she couldn't look him in the eye without her mind traveling to his.

And it wasn't just that. There was a life with him somewhere outside of S.H.I.E.L.D. that Natasha didn't know about. He's not the same cold-blooded assassin that she is-he loves, she knows. He loves people, and he enjoys them, and seeks their companionship, and he probably loves these made-up friends she's thought of, and maybe he had a girlfriend somewhere, someone he couldn't get over, that he loved too. Because love wasn't for children in Clint's eyes-she knows him better than anyone else, and she knows this for sure.

It kills her inside. The way that his hand began to linger on her shoulder, how sometimes she'd look over, and he'd just smile at her like she was bliss in herself. And Clint's not stupid, and he's tough, but he's letting it slip, Natasha thinks. Just like a mission, and his disguise is faltering. Because it's all very dangerous, very off-putting, especially for someone like her. And she doesn't want to say anything, because it'd be a risk. They're the best team at S.H.I.E.L.D., and it'd be nothing short of stupid to let it all die because she was afraid he might have a schoolboy _crush _on her, the kind that she'd used to her advantage for years past and years to come.

So she doesn't say anything, and she ignores his looks, and his goodness, and the fact that he's probably the only one who she trusts enough to let him call her, "Nat." She lets him joke with her, and sometimes she goes ahead and lets herself laugh, because he's actually sort of funny, and she's comfortable around him, and she's had much worse partners who made much worse jokes.

But the fear doesn't subside. That he loves her-that over the course of the months, he's gotten too comfortable, too happy, too at home in this position. But even when she wants to scream at him to stop, she keeps her silence, for her reasons.

And then there's Budapest.

And there's blood and there's bullets and he looks away for a second, and the last thing she sees before he crumples to the ground is his mouth forming her name. And then he's dead, but only for a moment, and a foreign fear comes through her and she's screaming and crying, but then it's better again, and she stops. And then there's white hospitals and red blood and they're sent to a hotel that's too lavish not to be an exchange for a deserved two-week vacation from Fury, not that either of them care. And it's not long before "_you almost died" and "I know," _and it's nothing either of them have ever trained for, but it goes by in a blur of sheets and Clint's calloused hands, and when she wakes up in the morning, she's surprised to be alone.

She doesn't see him for weeks after-there's talk about another mission, and whispers of "unfair" are becoming redundant to S.H.I.E.L.D. until she hears someone say he was finished. And that's when the panic sets in-of a call, or an appearance, and Natasha's all of a sudden scared out of her mind, and she's never scared. A plan forms (because this is just like a mission, remember?), and it's not long before she's more ready to abort than any mission she's ever received.

But the call never comes, and Clint's back before Natasha can lie on her couch with a bottle of wine, and sigh in relief. She never sees him, and it's all passing through awkward glances and strange stares, and while Natasha wishes for nothing but to _talk _to him, she also wishes that it could stay like this forever. Just her and Clint, working without consequence. And all of a sudden, all the looks and the smiles and the guilty laughing are taken away. It's too comfortable, she thinks, but she doesn't mind.

But the gods punish her. Instead of letting him become what she wants-the laughing, tough, reliable Clint that she remembered-he becomes blue-eyed and blank and he's no one's Clint anymore-he's barely even his own.

She doesn't cry, and she doesn't scream, because this is not a mission, and even if it was, it'd taken a horrible turn.

And she wishes, hopes, begs the God some people assure her is out there, to bring him back. That she'll kiss him and love him and give him everything he wants, or she'll let him be, and let him be Clint, the assassin who's more human than the rest of them.

But, of course, who's God to reward her?

* * *

_Fin._


End file.
